Atlas
The way ass whole is misspelled in red spray paint across the back door of
Bib's makes me think of my mother.
She would always insert a brief pause between syllables, making it
sound like two separate words. I wanted to laugh every time I heard it, but it
was hard to find the humor in it as a child when I was always the recipient
of the hurled insult.
"Ass… whole," Darin mutters. "Had to be a kid. Most adults know how
to spell that word."
"You'd be surprised." I touch the paint, but it doesn't stick to my fingers.
Whoever did this must have done it right after we closed last night.
"Do you think the misspelling was intentional?" he asks. "Are they
suggesting you're so much of an asshole that you're a whole entire ass?"
"Why do you assume they were targeting me? They could have been
targeting you or Brad."
"It's your restaurant." Darin takes off his jacket and uses it to pry a large
shard of exposed broken glass out of the window. "Maybe it was a
disgruntled employee."
"Do I have disgruntled employees?" I can't think of a single person on
payroll who would do something like this. The last person I'd had quit was
five months ago, and she left on good terms after getting a college degree.
"There was that guy who did the dishes before you hired Brad. What was
his name? He was named after some kind of mineral or something—it was
super weird."
"Quartz," I say. "It was a nickname." I haven't thought about that guy in
so long. I doubt he's holding a grudge against me after all this time. I fired
him right after we opened because I found out he wasn't washing the dishes
unless he could actually see food on them. Glasses, plates, silverware—anything that came back to the kitchen from a table looking fairly clean,
he'd just put it straight on the drying rack.
If I wouldn't have fired him, he would have gotten us shut down by the
health department.
"You should call the police," Darin says. "We'll have to file a report for
insurance."
Before I object, Brad appears at the back door, his shoes crunching the
broken glass beneath his feet. Brad has been inside taking inventory in
order to see if anything was stolen.
He scratches the stubble on his jaw. "They took the croutons."
There's a confused pause.
"Did you say 'croutons'?" Darin asks.
"Yeah. They took the whole thing of croutons that were prepared last
night. Nothing else seems to be missing, though."
That wasn't at all what I was expecting him to say. If someone broke into
a restaurant and didn't take appliances or anything else of value, they
probably broke in because they were hungry. I know that kind of
desperation firsthand. "I'm not reporting this."
Darin turns to me. "Why not?"
"They might catch whoever did it."
"That's the point."
I grab an empty box out of the dumpster and start picking up shards of
glass. "I broke into a restaurant once. Stole a turkey sandwich."
Brad and Darin are both staring at me now. "Were you drunk?" Darin
asks.
"No. I was hungry. I don't want anyone arrested for stealing croutons."
"Okay, but maybe food was only the beginning. What if they come back
for appliances next time?" Darin says. "Is the security camera still broken?"
He's been on me to get that repaired for months now. "I've been busy."
Darin takes the box of glass from me and starts to pick up the remaining
pieces. "You should go work on that before they come back. Heck, they
might even try to hit up Corrigan's tonight since Bib's was such an easy
target."
"Corrigan's has working security. And I doubt whoever it was will
vandalize my new restaurant. It was a matter of convenience, not a targeted
break-in."
"You hope," Darin says.
I open my mouth to respond, but I'm interrupted by an incoming text
message. I don't think I've ever reached for my phone faster. When I see
the text isn't from Lily, I deflate a little.
I ran into her this morning while I was running errands. It was the first
time we've seen each other in a year and a half, but she was late for work
and I had just received the text from Darin informing me we had a break-in.
We parted somewhat awkwardly on the promise that she would text me
once she got to work.
It's been an hour and a half since then, and I still haven't heard from her.
An hour and a half is nothing, but I can't ignore the nagging in my chest
that's trying to convince me she's having doubts about everything that was
said between us in that five-minute exchange on the sidewalk.
I'm definitely not having doubts about what I said. I might have gotten
caught up in the moment—in seeing how happy she looked and finding out
she's no longer married. But I meant every word I said to her.
I'm ready for this. More than ready.
I pull up her contact info in my phone. I've wanted to text her so many
times over the last year and a half, but the last time I spoke to her, I left the
ball in her court. She had so much going on, I didn't want to complicate her
life even more.
She's single now, though, and she made it sound like she was finally
ready to give whatever could be between us a chance. However, she's had
an hour and a half to think about our conversation, and an hour and a half is
plenty of time to form regrets. Every minute that passes without a text is
going to feel like a whole damn day.
She's still listed as Lily Kincaid in my phone, so I edit her contact info
and change her last name back to Bloom.
I feel Darin hovering, looking over my shoulder at my phone screen. "Is
that our Lily?"
Brad perks up. "He's texting Lily?"
" 'Our Lily'?" I ask, confused. "You guys met her once."
"Is she still married?" Darin asks.
I shake my head.
"Good for her," he says. "She was pregnant, right? What did she end up
having? A boy or a girl?"
I don't want to discuss Lily because there's nothing to discuss yet. I
don't want to make it more than what it might be. "A girl, and that's the last question I'm answering." I focus on Brad. "Theo coming in today?"
"It's Thursday. He'll be here."
I head inside the restaurant. If I'm going to discuss Lily with anyone,
it'll be Theo.